


So You've Had A Little Trouble in Town

by Werelibrarian



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Animal Transformation, M/M, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-08 10:40:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7754509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werelibrarian/pseuds/Werelibrarian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foggy drops the tennis racquet when the thing--the flapping, bat-like <em>thing</em> that cannonballed through the open bedroom window--squeezes his face between claw tipped wings and screeches in a tiny human voice, "Foggy, they turned me into a dragon!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	So You've Had A Little Trouble in Town

**Author's Note:**

> 100% of this occurred because I play DragonVale and named one of my dragons Matty. 
> 
> The sadvocado feelings--I'm not sure where they came from. I suppose I'd been bottling.

Foggy drops the tennis racquet when the thing--the flapping, bat-like _thing_ that cannonballed through the open bedroom window--squeezes his face between claw tipped wings and screeches in a tiny human voice, "Foggy, they turned me into a dragon!"

He stares, cross-eyed, at the creature with stubby little horns as it tumbles down his chest. Its claws catch in his shirt and it dangles by the tips of its wings, its face turned up to him beseechingly.

"Foggy help," it pleads, and yes, ok. He recognizes that tone.

"Jesus Christ, Matt." Foggy scoops a hand under his doubly estranged best friend--estranged from him and estranged from human form, and Matt lands in his palm, wings flopped over the sides of his hand and his tiny chest heaving. "What the hell's the matter with you? Other than the obvious."

"Flying's an absolute pain in the ass, take it from me," Matt pants.

"You're an absolute pain in the ass," Foggy grumbles, but gets a pillow from the bed so that Matt can rest on the kitchen table. As Matt knuckles around, looking for all the world like a kitten making biscuits on his mother's belly, Foggy puts his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands and looks him over.

"I wonder what you'd have looked like if they hadn't gotten you in the Daredevil suit," he muses, "I mean, I'm assuming this happened on patrol, and not when you were out buying milk. Would you have been a pink dragon with abs instead?"

Matt sits back on his haunches. "I look like the suit?"

"Yeah, you're a bit bat-like, I guess, mostly black with some red, and you've got horns, and--point your face up, Matt--aw, you've got itty bitty red eyeballs." His snout is snub-nosed and upsettingly human-like, and it purses into a pout.

Matt falls forward, burying his face in the pillow. "Brilliant. Loving it," he moans. He sounds so much like Foggy's aggrieved law-school roommate that Foggy reaches out with with a fingertip and scratches the top of his head.

Matt pushes into the touch. "You're handling this better than I thought you would," he sighs.

"I'm handling this the only way I can, other than fast-pitching you back out the window," Foggy returns. He hasn't forgotten they're technically not speaking to each other, but pretending that's not the case is less awful than the other option, which is letting loose with all the ways Matt hurt him while Matt weeps guiltily into his wings.

"Well, it's appreciated," Matt says gruffly, trying to rub his chin and clocking himself with a wing accidentally. Foggy absolutely doesn't grin helplessly.

\--

Matt walks a bit unsteadily, which is expected since he's not designed to be bipedal and having his wings extended for balance means he's knocked over by errant breezes, including but not limited to Foggy blowing on him. He tries rolling like a log but that just gets one of his wings stuck behind his head. He tries dragging himself along his belly, like bats do, but after a few inches he sits back, a frown creasing his face, and declares that it's undignified.

Foggy's giving him two more tries before he's just going to pop Matt on his shoulder like a parrot. When he pulls his head out of the refrigerator, Matt's making a bid at hovering, but in reality he's flying in a tight spiral.

"Hey, nice!" Foggy says, when he's recovered from nearly dropping the plate of food. Matt spirals over to him determinedly. Then he actually goes "bleargh" and drops out of the air like a stone.

"Jesus, I've got the spins," Matt groans, wrapping his wings around Foggy's head.

"Don't puke in my hair," Foggy orders. Matt kicks him in the ear.

"Won't. It smells nice," says Matt, sounding dozy. Foggy plucks him off his side of his face and sets him down, where he totters in a wobbly circle before tipping over.

"Even if you did, you'd be less trouble as a dragon then as a human. Hey!" Foggy sits forward and pokes Matt in the side. He rolls over lazily, his wing spread over him like a blanket.

"What?"

"Can you breathe fire?"

"Don't know. I hope not."

"Wanna try?"

Matt sniffs towards the plate. "Later," he says.

Matt as a dragon might look an awful lot like a bat, but Foggy's not sure what his little stomach can handle. So he offers up a stick of celery, a piece of raw beef, a sliced apple, and, shrugging his shoulders, a pile of powdered bugs that he usually gives to his gecko. Sir David Attenborough can glare daggers from the tank all he wants, he's going to have to share dinners just this once.

Foggy finds out that dragons have tongues, apparently, as Matt licks the beef, devours the apple, scatters the gecko food with a sneeze, and spits out the celery. "You know I hate celery!" he says, flapping indignantly.

"It was that or a jalapeño, buddy."

Matt munches it, grudgingly, because there are no more apples.

\--

They test Matt's fire breathing abilities in the kitchen. Foggy stands at the ready with a bowl of water and an oven mitt while Matt roars and huffs and tries to incinerate a wooden spoon clamped upright in the sink.

Matt can't manage flame, but he coughs up a lot of smoke and a few sparks before he drags himself to the bowl of water and tumbles in.

"I'm done for today," he says, piteously, when Foggy fishes him out.

"You know, as dragons go, you're kind of delicate."

"My mouth tastes like bus exhaust," Matt says, curling up in Foggy's cupped hands.

"I've got a spare toothbrush." Foggy pauses. "Or maybe just toothpaste and a q-tip."

Matt yawns, showing off a pink throat and a pointed tongue.

\--

Sitting on the bed in his pyjamas, Foggy watches Matt fly around the bedroom in swooping arcs, flapping from ceiling corner to floor, around the bed, and up again.

"Look, is it bedtime or are you a nocturnal type dragon?" he demands. Matt lands, wraps his claws around the bedpost, bundles himself up in his wings, and swings forward to hang upside down.

This would have worked great, if Foggy owned one of those fancy wrought iron beds. He doesn't. He owns a flat-pack bed from IKEA and that means Matt basically slams his adorable dragon face into an oak-veneer panel before crumpling onto the blanket in a heap.

"Ow."

"Dear god, you're an idiot," Foggy says, "is your radar sense not working or something?"

"No, it's about the same," Matt says, woozily, as Foggy picks him up and pats him all over, feeling for injuries.

"How were you not killed tripping over a satellite tv dish," Foggy mutters darkly. He puts Matt down on the pillow next to him and turns the light out. "Hang upside down if you need, but try to be quiet."

Matt's silent for a while. "Thanks," he says, almost inaudibly, "for not fast-pitching me out the window."

"Yeah yeah, I'm a chump. I know. Go to sleep."

Foggy's almost completely unconscious when small scrabbling noises wake him up. Matt's dragging himself over the blankets and up onto Foggy's chest.

"Matt, get off."

"But I'm cold," Matt whines.

"I roll around."

Matt snorts. Foggy can feel the air against his chin. "No you don't, you sleep like a corpse. I hated that, before."

"I hate how little you respect me." Foggy doesn't actually decide to say it, but he's tired and it's dark and that makes him too honest. Matt freezes, perched on Foggy's chest.

"Foggy I--"

He doesn't open his eyes. "You tell the truth to people you respect. I know you've been hurting for years, and used to keeping secrets. But I still thought I had more credit with you than that."

"If you feel like that, why did you let me in tonight?"

"Because you asked for help."

Foggy puts a hand next to Matt, and Matt lowers his head onto the backs of his fingers.

"Is that the only reason?" he asks.

"This is my new apartment," Foggy says, stroking Matt's velvety back, "and I never told you the address."

\--

Foggy blinks himself awake in the pre-dawn light, and struggles for breath. Matt--human Matt--is lying on top of him, in full Daredevil getup. At some point in the night, Matt must have shoved his cowl back, because when Foggy peers down, he can see how peaceful Matt's face is, and how tightly his ear is pressed over Foggy's heart.

Part of him just wants to stay put, with Matt safe and not turned into mythological creatures or bleeding from the everywhere. But the armour is digging in uncomfortably, and as much as Matt might be out of it, he’d wake up enough to consider Foggy stripping him to be pretty damn out of order.

He runs his fingers through Matt's hair one last time, and shoves at his shoulder. "Matt, you're really heavy."

Matt whines and cuddles closer, then his eyes flash open. He rolls off of Foggy like he's been lit on fire, and covers his face with his gloved hands.

"Oh fuck."

"Yep," Foggy agrees. He turns on his side, facing Matt, who freezes again. "Take that crap off and get under the covers. It's not even dawn yet."

Matt moves like he thinks it's a trap, but the boots come off and the upper body armour and then, after some hesitation, the pants. Matt feels his way to Foggy's chest of drawers and opens the second one from the top. Even though this is a new bedroom and Matt never even rooted around in his old one, he finds a pair of sweats without any fumbling.

He lies down next to Foggy like he's going to the executioner's block. In the last few months, Foggy's feelings towards Matt have swung from white-hot rage to heartlessly cold and back again, but he's absolutely done--sick to the back teeth, _done_ \--with Matt's withholding stoicism.

"If you're uncomfortable, you should leave. You probably won't be seen."

"No, it's fine," Matt says, stoically.

Foggy goes hot all over and opens his mouth to unleash hell but sees Matt’s fingers ticking over the blanket like the claws on the tips of his wings. He takes a deep breath, then three more, trying to calm his heart, as Matt's expression becomes that of a man listening to an ax being sharpened.

"Do you want to listen to my heart again?" Foggy asks, evenly.

"No, it's--"

"I won't hurt you if you tell me the truth." Foggy pauses, thinking over his words. "That's not a threat. I won't hurt you if you lie, either. But telling me what you're actually feeling won't result in me causing you pain," he tells the ceiling. They're both on their backs, not touching, not facing each other.

Matt sounds choked. "You can't promise me that."

"Yesterday you weighed less than a pound and had wings I could see light through. I could have drop kicked you into the wall if I wanted, or trapped you under a salad bowl and yelled at you all night. You can, actually, trust me when you're in trouble, and I hate that you don't know it."

"I do know it." His voice was bolder when he was a six inch long dragon.

"Then please, for the love of god if not for the love of Foggy, just try."

Foggy turns his head to look at Matt, and sees a tear disappear into the hair at Matt's temple. He grimaces, because he's known this selfish, self-denying martyr since they were nineteen. Secrets kept or not, the thought pinging through Matt's head is perfectly clear.

" _I_ do not passeth all understanding, Matt, you're thinking of the other guy. I've told you how it works. It doesn't have to be a mystery."

Matt wipes his nose, then takes Foggy's hand. "Please can I listen to your heart again?"

"Yeah. Come here." He pulls, and Matt all but crashes into him. He's lost muscle and fat since Foggy last checked; his shoulder blades dig into Foggy's arms as he wraps Matt up in a hug. Matt doesn't make a sound but Foggy's shirt is growing steadily wetter.

"It's alright, I got you," he murmurs.

Matt tips his face up. "I have something to tell you. I can't do it yet. But I don't want to hide it anymore. When I'm ready, can I--will you," he trails off.

Something inside Foggy flashes a signal of dread. Christ what now, part of him thinks. But he runs a finger over Matt's jaw, and the way his eyes close and his forehead smooths out gives Foggy a bit of an idea what's coming. He's not ready to hear it either. The sight of Matt's face, in human form, is beautiful and hateful, and makes his heart twist in ways he's completely used to, and new ways he doesn't quite like.

And yet.

"I'll be there."

Matt hides his face again, but his breath is shuddery and relieved. Foggy closes his eyes and holds him tight, because it's easier when he's not looking. He can just cup the back of Matt's neck and pretend they're in some other time, some other place.

That thought makes Foggy's heart bump unhappily, and he looks down at Matt. The Foggy and Matt in those other places and times--they might have been happier, closer, better friends, but he can't wish for a more innocent Matt when he wants Matt to stop wishing for a Foggy who would be content not knowing.

This is Matt. He lies and he lets you down and he gets turned into crazy things. Don't hurt him when he tells you the truth.

"Do you have to go deal with whoever turned you into a dragon in the first place?"

"Later, maybe when the sun's up."

"When you're done, come back and tell me how it happened, ok?"

"...yeah. Ok, Foggy."

"Because I'll bet somewhere in there's a reason to make atrocious fun of you, and if you love me at all, you'll give me that chance."

Foggy's heart actually stumbles. It's fifty percent habitual banter, fifty percent slip of the tongue, fifty percent olive branch, but he's still uncomfortable that Matt now knows--will always know--exactly how messy Foggy's feelings are when it comes to him. But maybe it'll make more sense to him than the words he's been so terrible at hearing.

So Foggy grits his teeth and just lets his heart _be messy_ for Matt to hear.

Matt smiles against Foggy's chest. "I'll give you the chance."

\--

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a Stevie Nicks and Tom Petty song. Google it to experience an awful pun.
> 
> Occasionally I'm interesting on [Tumblr](http://www.werelibrarian.tumblr.com)


End file.
